That’s when Richard saw the truth.
And it hurt more than any business failure ever had.
He dropped to his knees on the pavement.
“I’m sorry,” he choked. “God… I’m so sorry.”
He took Emily’s hands. Didn’t care about the dirt. Or the blood.
“Come home,” he said. “We need to treat them. And I need to throw the trash out of my life.”
The walk back was surreal.
Richard Hawthorne—owner of half the city—carried Emily’s battered suitcase in one hand and held Ethan’s hand in the other. Emily limped beside him, holding Liam, while Noah clung to her side.
Inside the marble foyer, Victoria descended the stairs, flawless and smiling.
“Oh,” she sneered. “You brought the help back? Were the brats pathetic enough to guilt you?”
Richard didn’t shout.
His calm was far more terrifying.
“The watch,” he said.
Victoria blinked. “It’s in her bag, obviously—”
Richard opened Emily’s purse and pulled out the Rolex.
“The boys saw you put it there,” he said coldly. “They heard everything.”
Victoria’s smile cracked.
“They’re children—she manipulated them—”
“SHUT UP!” Richard thundered. “I saw the bruises. I saw you close the curtain while my children bled in the street.”
She backed away.